


we're half awake in a fake empire

by cxyst



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bullying, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, and hurting each other and putting up walls, ridiculous boys being ridiculously petty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxyst/pseuds/cxyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis takes a long, shaky breath on the other end of the line. “So there’s a wedding. And my whole family’s going to be there and I can’t- I don’t know if I-” He stops again, breathes. “I already begged Harry and Zayn and Niall to come with me and none of them can so I need you.”</p><p>And Liam has a million retorts on his tongue, a million versions of ‘why should I?’ and ‘what have you ever done for me?’. But there’s something in Louis’ voice that he’s never heard before. It might be fear and it might be sadness but it gets to him so much that he’s saying, “Yeah, okay,” before his brain has caught up to his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're half awake in a fake empire

**Author's Note:**

> just a bit of the fake relationship trope to keep us all going.. this took way too long to complete but it’s the longest thing i’ve ever written and i’m kind of super super proud of it because it has an actual plot!??? i dont think ive ever managed that before so woohoo. hopefully you lovely people like it too :)) title from ‘fake empire’ by the national

Liam gets along with everyone. Really, truly he does, and he prides himself on it. It makes him feel so warm inside to make other people smile and enjoy his company, that he doesn’t understand why everyone isn’t friendly. It’s really very easy. He learnt a long time ago (surrounded by brick and ivy and ‘spacious grounds’, sharp gazes and even sharper stings of a ruler against a wooden desk, so so close to his fidgeting fingers) how to use gentle smiles, guiding hands, to make people feel comfortable. He learnt that good posture and opening doors can charm people in a simple, almost primitive way. It’s not wild, reckless, boyish charm like Harry’s got, and it’s not allure like Zayn’s got; it’s not eyelashes and jawline and shadows. But it makes people like him.

In all cases but one, apparently.

“Shut up,” Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes in the greeting that has become customary for Liam, now, as he drops his coat on the bench and pulls the vodka bottle towards him. “You’re horrific.”

Liam feels an immediate surge of anger, a tightening of heat in his gut that makes him want to punch something. He takes a deep breath and swallows it down. “Sorry for saying hi, I-”

“Nobody offers to take someone’s coat as a greeting, Liam. Nobody.” Louis winces around a shot.

“Fine. Okay.” Liam nods, shaking his head a little and waving a hand towards the living room, where everyone else is gathered. “I’ll just-”

Louis makes a disgusted sound, and Liam can’t figure out whether it’s meant to be directed at him or the second shot of vodka Louis just downed, but he doesn’t hang around to try and figure it out.

That’s how most of his conversations with Louis end, if he’s honest, and Liam has never been quite sure why. He’s certain he never does anything wrong to Louis - not in the general sense, anyway - but there always seems to be some kind of problem with the way he acts that sets Louis on edge like nothing else.

Louis has told him enough times that Liam pisses him off, so Liam’s pretty clear on that, but he still doesn’t exactly understand why Louis gets so annoyed at the things he does. They’re just the same things he does when he’s talking to the rest of the people in the world.

And when Liam first met him (at a party at Harry’s, not unusually, when he’d just been dumped by Danielle and his mind was half-hazy with drink and he felt like his chest was caving in with every breath) he thought it might be just the way Louis was, tried to reassure himself that it couldn’t be his fault. But then he saw the way Louis acted with Harry, all comfortable and fond and caring to the point of being almost brotherly, and the way he had this special chilled out, partners in crime kind of camaraderie with Zayn, and... It kind of really fucking got to him.

Louis got to him. Even without the constant unnecessary rudeness, he would never have been the kind of person that Liam would want to spend time with. Louis is loud and ‘entertaining’ in the way that your best friend in grade school is entertaining - he’ll do anything to get a titter from the crowd, including pour tomato sauce all over his own head in the lunch line. That kind of personality makes Liam feel uncomfortable. Watching Louis at all the parties they end up thrown together at, Liam sees his (awfully blue) eyes flicker around the room, can see his brain ticking ticking away to come up with his next wisecrack, to jump in across someone else’s story, to dare himself to do a nude run on the fire escape. The way Louis is always planning, the way he always seems to have everyone in the room figured out, sends Liam’s brain spinning.

And then, it kind of gets worse. The thing is, it was guys like Louis that were Liam’s worst nightmare at his boarding school. They would do anything for a joke, including risking the harsh punishments for bullying that the headmaster insisted on. And it’s not that he’s scared of Louis, it’s not that at all. He’s old enough now that someone poking fun at his plaid button up or his sober nights before a working day doesn’t get to him like it would have before. But there’s something in the way Louis looks at a person, hard and sharp, before he announces some jokey-cruel comment about them to the room, that hits at a soft and achy and delicate spot in the back of Liam’s memory.

So really, they would never have gotten along. Liam is one hundred percent certain of that.

With that repeating like a mantra in his mind, Liam leaves Louis to his scoffing and his shots, to re-join Harry and Niall in the living room, where they’re sharing a joint and eyeing up the party – probably for potential sexual conquests, knowing them. (It doesn’t matter what they find, really, because they’ll always just fuck each other if they don’t like the look of anyone else.)

The room is smoky and loud with drunken chatter, mixed in with the traffic noise drifting up from the street below, through the windows Liam opened earlier in an attempt to ventilate the place before everyone got asphyxiated with weed smoke. The encounter with Louis has left a funny taste in Liam’s mouth, and he suddenly feels much more sober than he would like to be. He tries to move through the crowd a bit faster, but there are a fair few people there, considering the size of Harry and Niall’s apartment, and he ends up having to say ‘excuse me’ about forty three times to get to where the boys are sitting.

He sits down on the couch between Harry and some girl, and takes the joint when he passes it to him.

“Louis is here,” He says on his exhale, lungs itchy with hot sweetness. But he wants moving shapes and pretty colours and no more bloody thinking, so he takes another long hit on top of his first.

“Is he?” Harry asks, in the slow, wide-eyed, imploring way he speaks when he is extremely stoned. “Is Louis really here?”

“Yes,” Liam answers. He lets his head fall back on the couch and watches stars pop behind his eyelids.

“Aww,” Niall says loudly from Harry’s other side. “Is he still being mean to you, Li?”

Liam’s chest is burning from the inside out. He doesn’t let himself cough. “I never said he was mean to me, I don’t-”

“Yeah,” Harry interrupts, sighing out his words. His lips are all blown out all gentle, like someone’s put makeup on him, and it looks really really lovely somehow, and- And Liam thinks that it must really have been a long time since he’s kissed anyone, if he’s considering Harry.

(He’s beautiful, sure, but Liam found out very early on that if you didn’t draw very clear lines for your friendship with Harry, you would end up fucking him within a week. Niall is a perfect example. And as nice as that would be, Liam really isn’t the casual sex type.)

Liam looks back up to Harry’s eyes, rather than his lips, as he continues, “Yeah, but you get all.” He pauses, considers. “All puppy dog. You get all puppy dog when you see him, babe.”

“Yeah!” Niall nods vehemently. “All puppy dog.”

Liam sighs. Lets his head fall back on the couch again. He’s about to assure the boys that he’s fine, he’s used to it and he’s absolutely fine, when he feels the couch cushions shift and an elbow land not-so-accidentally in his ribs and hears Louis’ voice.

“Is this bloody sap whinging about me? Oh wah wah, for once somebody isn’t fooled by my ridiculous gentlemanly ways, wow, one person in the universe doesn’t like me, what a sad life I live, save me from my woes.”

And Liam hasn’t opened his eyes, but he can see him, splayed out across Niall and Harry’s laps, hand thrown dramatically over his face, hamming it up the way he knows will make Liam’s jaw clench.

Harry and Niall are stoned enough to laugh uproariously at Louis’ performance, but when Liam opens his eyes to look at the ceiling there is still smoke swirling and settling around everything and his vision is starting to shift and it’s easy, then, to let it all become woolly and dim, to let it fade out like radio static.

 

They see each other next at a smaller gathering a week after New Year’s, in a little club called The Red that one of Harry’s friends owns and can get him a private back room in. (It never ceases to amaze Liam, the people Harry knows.)

Liam is settled between a girl he’s met a couple of times and the wall, nursing his drink and attempting to decipher the Thai lettering snaking down the wall hangings across from him. It’s all a little blurry around the edges. The light is soft and warm and red and the talk in the room is in that cosy almost-crazy-drunk stage where everyone’s gone enough to be holding a serious conversation about the different types of orange that exist, but not quite gone enough to be making out. And Liam is half joining in with the chat, but it’s a bit awkward because everyone’s paired up - they’ve all got their hand on someone’s leg or their ankles hooked behind someone else’s. This has happened before, though, (Liam tries not to think that he’s the friend who gets invited because everyone’s worried he might be lonely otherwise, but sometimes he sees a kind of fond pity in Zayn’s eyes, a lilting set to Niall’s smile, that makes him think he could be), so he just smiles a little, takes another drink, and another, until he is well on his way to quietly smashed.

Louis arrives late, in a flurry of too-big denim jacket and cold-flushed cheeks, gets swamped by an ever-clingy Harry at the door and dragged right into the middle of the couch, where he immediately starts to tell an animated story about how he had been waylaid by his grandmother, armed with tea and biscuits, as he left Doncaster where he’d spent the holidays.

Liam sits and watches, with a kind of bitter awe, how the party automatically shifts to orbit around him. He hates how overconfident, how smug, Louis looks as he glances around at all the faces turned to him.

He meets Liam’s eyes and his lips twitch into a little self-satisfied smirk, and Liam- Liam doesn’t hate anyone, but he really thoroughly dislikes Louis Tomlinson.

It’s even later in the night that they actually find themselves talking, and it is absolutely not by any choice of either of them. It’s just that when everybody gets drunk enough to actually get up and dance, Liam realises all over again that everyone’s paired up. Niall had a girl he’s brought along; Harry has a boy - the friend who knows the owner of the club, in fact - and everyone else kind of slots into their own little light-hearted, flirty places in each other’s arms.

Which leaves Liam and Louis.

“You’re looking disgustingly preppy tonight, Payne,” Louis shouts over the music, leaning an elbow on the bar.

“Mmhm.” Liam absently watches Harry slide his arms around his boy’s neck on the dance floor, swaying his hips. He feels like the room is shifting around him, and starts trying to count out how many drinks he’s had before he gets lost. “How were your holidays?” He asks Louis, making an attempt at small talk before he says something ridiculous and slurry.

“Horrific.”

Liam feels a little twinge of happiness, but keeps his face neutral. “Oh no, why is that?”

“‘Oh no, why is that?’” Louis mimics, mouth twisting. He pauses, all soft fringe and cold eyes, watching for Liam’s reaction, but when he doesn’t do anything but lick his lips and lean back against the bar, eyes trailing slowly over the room, Louis continues. “Well, two weeks with a family who can’t seem to get over the fucking boyfriend questions was never going to be pleasant, was it?”

“Oh, god, I get that,” Liam nods, speaking without thinking, eyes focusing again. “Don’t even get me started on my family.”

Liam only left his Mum’s house the morning of New Year’s Eve, and he’s already had four texts from her along the lines of ‘new year, new start!!! you will find your special someone!! make sure you go out and socialise, get to know some new people!!!!’. She means well, of course, but he can read between the lines. ‘Get a fucking boyfriend, we’re worried.’

“Yeah, I doubt they’re worse than mine,” Louis almost snarls. “Did you have your uncle ask if you’re ‘really gay, or do you just say that because you can’t get any girls’?”

“I-” Liam stares at him. Even as drunk as he is, it’s not hard to see the hurt behind Louis’ anger, but it’s also not hard to see that if Liam acknowledges it, Louis will push him back, hard. He swallows back the ‘that must have been awful’ and the ‘are you alright’ and says, “I didn’t have that happen, no.”

“Mmhm,” Louis says into his drink, eyes like ice. “Didn’t think so.”

They are silent for a couple of minutes. Liam goes back to watching the people on the dance floor and feels his vision blur, his head swim.

“How drunk are you?” He asks Louis. It comes out of his mouth as soon as he thinks it and he immediately regrets it.

Louis’ eyes narrow. “What are we, fifteen? ‘How drunk are you Timmy? Eleven out of ten man!’” He puts on a high pitched voice and punches the air, sloshing a bit of his drink on his shirt. He pauses, then nods seriously, inspecting the stain. “Yeah, I think we have an eleven out of ten here.”

Liam laughs in spite of himself.

“You look like one of those really dopey dogs when you laugh.” Louis is swirling the dregs of his drink around and around the bottom of his glass. It makes Liam think of a whirlpool. “Your eyes go all scrunchy.”

“Harry always calls me a puppy dog,” Liam sighs. His eyes are caught on Louis delicate fingers now. He has really small, soft looking hands. They don’t match his big, sharp personality at all. He wonders, strangely, what those hands would look like pressed up against his, whether their fingers would curl together or overlap awkwardly. He’s well off his train of thought by the time he drags his eyes back to Louis’ face.

He’s smiling, and Liam thinks that Louis must be almost as drunk as him, because there is definitely no other explanation for him doing anything but scowl when talking to Liam.

“You really are smashed aren’t you?” Louis says amusedly. And okay, maybe nobody in this club is almost as drunk as Liam.

Liam just nods, not trusting himself to open his mouth.

“Tell me about the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you.”

There is a small, vague feeling in the back of Liam’s mind that he shouldn’t tell Louis anything of the sort, but he’s not even sure his feet are on the ground right now, feels like the bar is holding him up more than muscle and bone are, so it’s easy to force a laugh and tilt his heavy head to the side and begin with, “Well, in grade four…”

 

Liam isn’t sure he’s ever regretted anything more in his life. His hangover is absolutely lethal, making his mouth and throat taste like stale wine and an awful off-sweetness, pain pulsing hard in his temples and the back of his neck. He’s had a long, steaming hot shower - standing motionless with his head down under the spray for half an hour straight - and yet somehow he still feels dirty, like his skin is encrusted with that sweat-glitter-heat mixture that you can only get from clubs.

But even worse than all that, Louis is sitting in his kitchen.

“Ah, the man of the hour!” He exclaims, about forty decibels too loud for Liam’s hangover-sensitive ears.

Liam grits his teeth and says, “Good morning, Louis,” as he walks to the sink.

As always, his politeness only seems to aggravate Louis more. “You look horrific. Big night?”

“You could say that,” Liam says mildly, without turning around.

He hears Louis laugh, and more footsteps come in from the hall.

“Harry! Do you know you snore?”

Harry only grunts in reply, coming into the kitchen behind Liam and hip checking him to reach the clean glasses. His eyelids are a little droopy, but otherwise he looks relatively unaffected by his night out. Liam catches his own reflection in the microwave door - sees the dark circles under his eyes and the way his hair is sticking up in a million different directions - and kind of really hates him.

He has the worst morning he’s had in a long time. It mostly consists of Louis reminding the whole kitchen of every single embarrassing story Liam had let slip to him the night before, as well as treating them all to an enthusiastic imitation of Liam’s drunk dancing, which mostly just looks like him having a mild seizure and spilling his glass of water down his chin. Harry is in mildly apologetic hysterics, as usual, and it only takes about ten minutes for Liam to give up his unaffected act and disappear off to his room.

It’s all too familiar, all Louis’ acts, all his teasing and jokes. It’s meant to be harmless, so it’s the kind of thing that he can’t complain about without seeming petty. So he just gets back into bed, closes his eyes, and tries to ignore the sick, hot feeling in his stomach.

 

Liam gets a call at work and it’s Louis. He thinks for a second that he’s misheard the person on the other end, but when he hears, “Well, are you going to say something? That’s generally how a phone call works, you know,” he knows he hasn’t.

“You…Why are you-” He’s stammering, his mind is tripping over itself. “Hi?”

“Hi.” Louis’ voice is clipped, and almost thick, like maybe he’s been crying. “I know we don’t really like each other, but I... You were the only person I could think off who probably isn’t doing anything this weekend.”

Liam is pretty sure he should be offended by that, but it’s not like it’s untrue. His plan for the weekend is to catch up on his accident reports for the week, go to the gym, watch X Factor and go grocery shopping in his Uggs, while Harry and Niall probably have four different parties already planned. He never really thought about how much his job would drain him when he was training to be a paramedic, but he definitely knows about it now.

He says, “Okay,” not knowing what else there is to say.

Louis takes a long, shaky breath on the other end of the line. “So there’s a wedding. And my whole family’s going to be there and I can’t- I don’t know if I-” He stops again, breathes. “I already begged Harry and Zayn and Niall to come with me and none of them can so I need you.”

It’s slowly making sense. Liam feels a foggy memory creeping back – Louis in a club, eyelashes shadowing his cheeks in the dim light, sharp hurt behind his eyes.

“Your family are still on your back about…about getting a boyfriend or whatever, then?”

“Yes.” Louis says, clipped again. “You don’t need to do anything crazy, I can mostly fob them off, but just. Just come?”

And Liam has a million retorts on his tongue, a million versions of ‘why should I?’ and ‘what have you ever done for me?’. But there’s something in Louis’ voice that he’s never heard before. It might be fear and it might be sadness but it gets to him so much that he’s saying, “Yeah, okay,” before his brain has caught up to his mouth.

 

“You’re too nice for your own good.”

Liam sighs, steals Zayn’s cigarette from the corner of his mouth and lets it burn down in his fingers for a moment before taking a short drag. Normally he wouldn’t smoke, but when Zayn’s shaking and trembling and breathing hard it always seems to calm him, so Liam thinks one can’t hurt.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Liam shakes his head helplessly. “He just- I just.”

Zayn is smiling. “He’s horrible to you, and you’re still helping him out.” When Liam doesn’t reply, he lowers his voice, nudges him gently. “D’you like him, then?”

Liam stiffens. “No. How could I? He’s awful. Absolutely not.”

Maybe he’s thought about it. When he first met Louis, before he opened his mouth. Maybe he’d thought about kissing him or touching his little waist or making his eyes flutter, but he doesn’t anymore. Even the prettiest person can be ruined by cruelty and sharpness. It’s not the reason he’s helping Louis, anyway; he doesn’t understand that himself.  
Zayn is looking at him like he knows, and is just waiting for Liam to see it. Liam avoids his eyes, stares out at the horizon instead. The coldness of the metal fire escape is seeping through his jeans.

“You didn’t hear him mate,” he sighs. “He sounded…scared.”

“Louis?” Zayn scoffs, incredulous. “Scared?”

Liam shrugs. Zayn knows Louis better than him, and knowing that makes him feel like even more of an idiot for jumping into this. He’s always been one to want to help other people, but this just seems out of control. He’s leaving tomorrow. The why and how was lost somewhere between Louis’ teary voice and Liam’s hurried yes, and he’s just doing what he feels like he should. It’s not the way he would normally go about something – he likes to reason, to plan, to worry – but it almost feels like he’s on autopilot. (It’s the way he gets when he has to save someone fast, when he’s pounding at their chest and shouting at the ambulance driver and searching for a vein to inject adrenaline, all at the same time. His reasoning brain is left behind, stumbling and tripping, while something in his heart jumps up and takes over.)

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” He says, laughing a little. “Do you know what I’m doing? I feel like you do, and you’re being a dick because you know you’re smarter than me.”

Zayn just smiles again, says, “You’ll work it out.”

“Oh my god.” Liam isn’t laughing now. “Stop being so fucking wise.”

Zayn shrugs. He lights up another cigarette like he’s just realised Liam isn’t giving his back, and they go back to smoking silently. Liam lets his smoke burn down to his fingertips before crushing it carefully against the metal beside him. The sun has completely gone down, and the breeze is raising goose bumps on his arms, and he doesn’t know where he’s going to be sleeping tomorrow night and it makes him feel a little sick, but also a little madly excited.

 

Louis picks him up the next afternoon to drive to Doncaster, and it’s awkward and stilted and everything Liam had dreaded this whole thing would be. Louis had told him on the phone to pack a suit and dress shoes and he hadn’t said thank you, as such, but his voice had become stronger with relief. Liam sees that in him again now. He looks small and hesitant like Liam’s never seen him, but his shoulders are relaxed.

Somehow, though, he still manages to be as annoying as ever.

“You couldn’t have tried to look a bit cooler to meet my family, could you?” He snorts, looking him up and down. “I would like them to think I can pull somebody decent.”  
Zayn told Liam he had to nip the teasing in the bud if his weekend was going to be even slightly bearable, so he takes a deep breath and says, “I don’t really think you’re in a position to criticise me, mate. I could just,” He takes a step away from Louis’ car, “Head back in.”

Louis’ eyes widen. “No, no, wait, I- Shit, sorry,” He sighs. “I’m sorry. Automatic, like. You look fine, I’m just a dick when I’m nervous.”

Liam opens the passenger side door and swings his bag in, then turns around and leans back on the car, raising his eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure you’re a dick all the time, to be honest.”

(And he suddenly knows why Louis does this, why he always wants the upper hand. Liam feels strong, knowing that he could say anything, and Louis wouldn’t be able to fight back. He’s done using the power, for now, but it’s interesting to know it’s there.)

Louis kind of laughs, looking at Liam, considering. “Did I just get a little bit of fight out of you, Payne?”

“Let’s just go, yeah?” He says, hiding his smile as he gets into the passenger seat.

 

Weirdly, they agree on a radio station.

“Thank god you’re not all ‘alternative’ like Harry. His bloody uni stations eat away at my soul,” Louis says, hands loose around the wheel. His fringe is hanging in his eyes and the gold light from the horizon is making him glow.

Liam looks back at the road, watches the kilometres disappear underneath them as he nods. “I’ve never understood his music taste. All those whiney English bands. He’s just got to let a bit of Pharell into his life.”

“Well that’s one thing we won’t have to lie about, then,” Louis says, mouth pulling up a bit at the side. “We like the same music.”

That shocks Liam, a little, out of the soft half-light of the car and back into the real world. Back into the realisation that in – he checks the clock – less than half an hour he’s going to be meeting Louis’ whole family and having to pretend that he can actually stand his company for more than ten minutes.

“I don’t even know what you do,” He says.

“I’m a dental assistant,” Louis tells him, quiet. “But if you’re my boyfriend you should know that I hate it.”

Liam nods. The light outside has dimmed properly now, turning trees into blurred shadows. The headlights of the car sweep across them as they turn corners, lighting trunks and leaves up for a moment before they’re left in darkness again.

“What do you hate about it? Y’know, if I’m your boyfriend I should probably…know.”

“Mmhm,” Louis says, fingers clenching and releasing on the steering wheel. “There’s not much to it, it’s just boring as hell. I’m kind of, a little bit insane and stuff so. That kind of work would never have suited me.”

“Why do you do it, then?” Liam asks.

Louis sighs. “I wanted to go into music production, you know? Like I studied it in Uni for a bit and everything. It’s what originally got me out of Doncaster. But it’s harder to get into than you’d think. After I dropped out of Uni I had to find the best job I could under the circumstances.” He shakes his head a little. “It’s this or going back to live at home.”  
Liam drops his head back on the seat, stretching out his neck as he listens. It’s almost surreal, having a normal conversation with Louis. But Louis is different when he’s away from a big group of people; he’s calmer, less frantic. Liam doesn’t see his eyes darting quite so much, doesn’t feel so braced for an insult. He should probably have known that it was all an act, but even if he did, he would never have thought it would take so little for it all to fall away.

“And you don’t want to move back home?”

“No way. I’m just not a small town kind of person. I’m too messy for a washed out place like that. And my family…” He shrugs. “I love my Mum and my sisters, of course, but everyone else. They just-”

Liam remembers what Louis said about his Uncle, that night in the bar, and thinks about what Zayn had told him about Louis’ different Dads and step-dads, and saves him from his stumbling. “Yeah, I get it.”

They’re coming off the highway now, starting to turn into suburbs. Liam hasn’t been paying attention to the road signs but they must be getting close. Louis is silent for a moment  
longer before he seems to come back to himself.

“God, I’ve rambled on haven’t I? You’ve got about five minutes to tell me what I need to know about you.”

“Um, okay,” Liam’s heart is going a little too fast for the situation, but it just feels too much like the getting-to-know-you exercises the boarding leaders made them do every year, where he would fumble his words and everyone would laugh at him and he would get all hot under his stiff blazer collar. And Louis is (usually) so much like the boys who used to tease him that it’s all the harder. But he swallows it all down, because he isn’t thirteen anymore, and he has the power here. “I’m a paramedic, and I love it.”

“Mmhm,” Louis murmurs, brow furrowed like he’s concentrating hard. “Why do you love it?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just like the idea of saving someone,” Liam says. “I originally wanted to be a fireman, but when that fell through I just went on to the next best thing. It’s strange hours and stuff, but it’s good. I get most weekends off, obviously. It suits me, I think.”

The car pulls up slowly to a house with big, curtained front windows. They light up faint squares of brightness on the lawn, and Liam can see a pink bike and a half-deflated football strewn across it. Louis turns the engine off and takes a deep breath.

“It’s only my immediate family tonight, so it shouldn’t be too bad,” He says. “We can say we’re tired early if they start asking too many questions that we… you know, can’t answer, or whatever.”

Liam nods, heart suddenly in his throat again. He likes to think he’s gotten better with meeting new people since his awkward childhood, but this seems like something so much more important than just shaking hands with someone at a party. As awful as Louis usually is to him, Liam can’t quite bring himself to fuck this up for him. Not when his eyes look this blue and his smile looks this hopeful.

Liam nods again. “Right,” he says, hand on the car door. “Let’s do this.”

He’s turning to get out when Louis grabs his arm. “Wait. Uh.” He shakes his head, smiling faintly. “I know my Mum’s going to ask, so we should get our stories straight. How did we meet?”

“I mean,” Liam hesitates. “I guess we can just tell the truth, right?”

Louis looks confused. “You mean, at one of Harry’s parties?”

There’s a noise from the front step and they both whip their heads around to see the front door starting to open. Liam speaks hurriedly, “We can leave out the bit about you pouring your drink on my paperwork, obviously, but-”

“Well who does paperwork at a fucking party anyway!” Louis hisses, letting go of Liam’s arm like he’d forgotten he’d been holding onto it. The teasing is so familiar that it settles Liam’s stomach a bit. The door is fully open now, and a woman in an apron is peering out at them. “But yes, okay, fine. At Harry’s party. Now let’s go.”

And so they get their bags and head up the front path, and Louis is caught up in his mother’s arms quicker than either of them can say hello. When she finally pulls her face up out of his shoulder to smile at Liam, it’s lovely and disconcerting how much she looks like Louis, and how much Liam likes that about her.

“Louis never said he was bringing anyone!” She says, not unkindly, but giving Louis a short stern look.

Louis steps back from her arms and looks back at Liam, that hopeful smile still lingering on his cold-flushed face. “Sorry Mum, I wasn’t sure whether- We didn’t know if Liam was going to be working. He’s got strange hours sometimes.” He looks proud for remembering that detail. “This is, uh. He’s my.”

“Boyfriend,” Liam finishes, because Louis can’t seem to get it out, and the sudden panic in his eyes isn’t exactly helping with the flow of their story. “I’m Liam, it’s lovely to meet you.”

Louis’ Mum looks all lit up, she’s smiling so big. “Oh my goodness, Louis never said! You can call me Jay.” She gushes, pulling Liam into a hug. She has to stretch up on her toes to reach around his shoulders, and she smells like baking and home in a way that Liam hadn’t expected. He hugs her back tight.

“Well, come in, come in,” she says, ushering them through the door into a small hallway. They take off their shoes and add them to the pile of pumps and sandals near the door, and follow her down into the warmth of the rest of the house. “You have to tell me how you two met!”  
Liam catches Louis eye as soon as Jay turns her back, and gives him a quick thumbs up. He grins back, and it feels strangely like this whole thing might work.

 

Louis ruins all Liam’s optimism at dinner.

“…And then, his pants fell down in front of the whole class!” Louis tells the table, through his laughter. His little sisters are in high pitched hysterics, and even Jay is chuckling. “God, I wish I could have seen it.”

“Please stop, I-” Liam is flushed and stammering. “It was a long time ago, I’ve tried- I’d rather forget it.”

Louis is still grinning when he says, “And what colour underwear were you wearing again?”, and when he looks at Liam there’s no sharpness in his gaze, but Liam’s so used to seeing it that he convinces himself that it must be there anyway. He looks away, clears his throat.

“Oh, leave him alone, Louis!” Jay shakes her head, giving Liam a knowing look, like he must know what it’s like to be fondly exasperated with Louis. And Liam guesses, as his boyfriend, he probably should. He can’t really make himself act properly right now, though, so he just forces a small smile and reaches over to pat Louis’ hand where it’s sitting on the table.

It gives him a little shock when Louis turns his hand over and links their fingers together. His hand feels so small and soft and warm and it must have taken so much strength for Louis to do that, considering how much he obviously still dislikes Liam, that he can’t make himself pull away. His face is still burning, half embarrassment and half anger, but this, touching, is something he can manage.

They excuse themselves, and Liam pulls his hand away as soon as they’re out of sight of the rest of the family, starting up the stairs to the spare bedroom. Louis doesn’t seem affected, he just tucks his hand back into his jeans pocket.

They head up the dark hallway, lit up only with the pale slivers and shadows from the moonlight outside the windows, and Louis shoulders Liam gently, whispers, “I never thought I’d be glad for your ridiculous old-fashioned manners, Payne. You’ve got Mum charmed.”

Liam shrugs, still bitter, and mumbles, “Guess so.”

There’s only a double bed in the guest room, and there’s a stilted, awkward minute where they’re both standing with their backs to each other – taking off their jeans, pulling on pyjama pants, rifling through their bags for their phone chargers – and then, finally, they turn around and face each other.

“Sorry about the bed situation,” Louis says quietly. “I couldn’t exactly ask for an air mattress when you’re- when we’re meant to be…”

“No problem,” Liam nods, already tugging at the sheets, sliding into the cold, empty space between them.

His muscles and mind feel weak and exhausted, like they do after a particularly stressful job. He lies for a while listening to Louis’ breathing, feeling him shift on the other side of the bed, then drifts off.

He dreams of his class laughing at him, back in Year 6, and wakes up in the darkness with his breath coming short, feeling like an awful baby but still secretly wishing he could just go back to his own apartment, back to the safe place in his mind that he’d spent so long building, away from the sleeping sickness of all these awful memories that Louis (his personality and his teasing and his hunger for feeling powerful and his cruel quick wit) constantly dredges back up.

But then Louis rolls over, snuffling sleepily, and curls close.

He feels tiny in sleep, without his overly-loud voice and constant, hyperactive movement. He curls his little fist into Liam’s t-shirt and burrows into his side, hair messy and soft over his face, and Liam hates himself for it, but he just can’t be angry at him. So he curls his hand around Louis slim shoulders and falls asleep timing his breathing with Louis’.  
He doesn’t have any more nightmares.

 

The next day is the day of the wedding, and strangely, Liam is extremely grateful for being woken up by Louis’ sisters bursting, giggling, through the door and jumping on the bed, because it saves them from the awkward moment of waking up cuddled together.

Louis smiles hesitantly, carefully, at Liam as they head down the stairs after the horde of girls, like he knows he was upset the night before. Liam doesn’t hesitate to smile back, this time. Today is the big day, anyway. This is the day Louis needs him for, and his instinct to help people is already taking over.

“Louis and Liam were snuggling!” The eldest sister (Liam has given up on learning their names – it would be hard enough to remember that many, even if they weren’t constantly running around and talking over each other and confusing him) tells Jay in a stage whisper.

Liam glances over at Louis and he’s ducking his head on the other side of the kitchen, fumbling with two mugs. “Shut up, Lottie,” he mumbles.

Jay smiles at Liam quickly, then at Lottie. “That’s what people do when they love each other, babe. Now stop tormenting your brother and eat some breakfast.”

To get himself out of the way of the chaos, Liam heads over to stand beside Louis, leaning his hip on the counter. When he spots Jay still watching him, he reaches out and gently touches the back of Louis’ neck.

His head jerks up immediately, but his shoulders relax again when he sees Liam. “Two sugars?” He asks quietly.

“Thanks,” he murmurs back, stroking along Louis’ hairline almost accidentally. Louis just smiles and leans into it, though, so he doesn’t stop.

“The wedding’s at 11,” Louis tells him, hands busy with the kettle. He smiles again, glancing back at his sisters where they’re fighting over which cereal they want. “Phoebe and Daisy are flower girls. You brought a suit and stuff, like I said?”

“Of course,” Liam nods. There’s a moment of silence between them, as they listen to the girls squabble and Jay scold and the kettle whistle. Then, “So, uh, is your uncle going to be there?”

Liam feels Louis’ neck tense as he swallows hard, and strokes his thumb across his skin again. “Yeah. All the uncles. Every family member who has ever been disappointed in me, pretty much.” He forces a laugh, but he’s biting his lip hard.

“Don’t worry,” Liam says immediately. He really wants to hug Louis, but he feels like that might not fit into the rules of their act if his Mum and sisters aren’t even looking. He squeezes his neck instead, before reaching out for his tea. “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

Louis looks a little comforted, but Liam doesn’t have time to appreciate it before they’re being shooed out of the kitchen by Jay, telling them to go get dressed so they can help the girls get sorted. Louis rolls his eyes but goes, blowing across the top of his tea.

They don’t really get another proper moment together after that – it’s all a whirlwind of struggling into suits and ties and dress shoes, then little white strappy shoes and full white skirts with tiny rosebuds, and rosebud hair clips to match, and giggles and pinches and little blonde heads ducking out of reach. It should be horrible and stressful but somehow it’s fun, especially watching Louis sweep Daisy up in his arms and tickle her until she lets him put her frilly socks on. He’s so much more open and free around his sisters, like he’s let go of the way he normally watches everyone, careful and waiting. It puts Liam at ease to know that for once, nobody’s in the firing line.

Louis drives them to the ceremony with Lottie and Felicity in the back of his car, so they can’t talk there either. Liam had wanted to ask how he should act in front of the rest of the relatives, how obvious he’s meant to make it that he’s there with Louis and not just with him. It’s all happening very fast and Liam wants more than he should, looking at Louis in his tailored blazer jacket with his hair pushed back. 

They get out at the church and there are people scattered everywhere, over the steps and inside the doors, and a lot of them stare when they walk up. Louis’ reaction is immediate – all the honesty he had been letting out when they had been home shuts off. His face closes, into that cold, calculating expression he gets what he’s about to make fun of someone.

Liam’s about to try and comfort him again, but it’s Louis who reaches out to hold Liam’s hand. He doesn’t meet his eyes, though, or say anything.

The inside of the church is beautiful, and as they sit down at the pews Liam lets his eyes drift up to the rafters, where patterns of different coloured light are criss-crossing over the wooden beams. The ceremony is long and uninteresting, because Liam doesn’t have a clue who the people getting married are, but he still gets a little shiver when they say, “I do,” at the end. He’s a sap like that. And it feels nice to still be holding Louis’ hand.

They stand up and start following everyone else out of the doors, and Liam squeezes Louis’ fingers and smiles over at him, without thinking. He’s taken aback when Louis shoots him a glare.

“I know this is probably the first time you’ve ever held hands with someone,” he whispers harshly. “But try your hardest not to come in your pants for me.”

It’s so straight up horrible that Liam jerks away from him immediately, almost elbowing a woman coming down the church steps behind him. His stomach is suddenly clenched, like he might throw up. He feels thirteen years old again, standing alone in his dorm room while the rest of the boys head out to kick a football, told to stay put with the door slammed in his face.

Only now, he’s braver.

“Stop it,” He says, clenching his fists. “Stop talking to me like that. Stop treating me like shit, stop it.”

Louis’ eyes dart around, watching the crowd of people start to make their way around to the back of the church, where there’s apparently a marquee set up for the reception. He’s breathing hard, and he looks almost confused. “I’m- I don’t-”

“No, listen.” Liam is on a roll now, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. “I put up with people like you for too many years when I was younger and I’m not going through it again. I never did anything to make those kids at school hate me so much, and I never did anything to you. I’m here fucking helping you out!”

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Louis seems to have come back to himself now, and he’s shaking his head, stepping closer. “I’ve pushed it too far, I’ve been pushing it too far for so long, oh god.”

He sounds almost teary, but Liam is too. He won’t feel sorry for Louis, even though his hand is trembling where it reaches out to touch. When Liam turns his face away, he drops it back to his side. All of the wedding guests have disappeared around the corner now, eager to get sloshed on cheap wine and bloated from canapés.

“I get so mean when I’m upset,” Louis says, voice weak and cracking. “I fuck everything up.”

“Yeah, you do.” Liam lets out a sharp breath, stopping the words. He can’t bring himself to make Louis feel worse, when he already sounds so small.

There’s a moment of silence, then Louis sniffs and murmurs, “You were bullied, then?”

It makes the hair on the back of Liam’s neck stand up, makes his fists clench again. “Yes.”

“Me too,” Louis says hurriedly, like the words might bite him if he doesn’t spit them out fast enough. “In Uni, though. Because I’d always lied in Doncaster, about being gay or whatever, and I thought maybe when I went to Uni I could…be myself, or something.”

Liam turns around to look at Louis where he’s sitting down on the steps. He looks tiny, all curled in on himself and poking at the toe of his dress shoes, suit jacket flapping around his knees. Liam doesn’t say anything.

His eyes look almost glazed over when he says, “I copped a lot of shit and Harry was like my only friend and all that combined with my complete inability to fucking finish anything…I dropped out.”

Liam swallows hard, feeling confused and dizzy and sick. “Then you should know how it fucking feels,” he says, his voice coming out a higher pitch than usual. “Why do you…?”

“It’s easier to be the one making fun of other people, than to be on the other side of it.” Louis starts to say something else, then hesitates. “I don’t…I feel like I have to make sure everyone knows I’m stronger than them. So I guess I just do it because I’m scared.” He laughs bitterly. “How sad is that?”

“But I can look after you, I can help, I-” Liam takes a step towards Louis, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “You don’t need to fucking…push me away, or whatever.”

Louis chokes on a sigh. “I know. You know me better than even Harry does, and I never wanted that but now I feel like I need it and- I’m just an idiot. Please don’t…” He looks up, collar askew and eyes watery. “Please don’t leave. I don’t think I can go back in there without you.”

Over the past twenty-four hours, Liam has seen Louis in a way he never expected, and he knows things he never really knew he would want to know about him. But he’s never seen him like this. He’s watched him long enough, at all those endless parties, to know that he constantly has a wall up. Now, he can’t see it anymore, and it sounds cheesy and ridiculous but he’s so much more beautiful without it.

It’s hot on the steps, with the early afternoon sun slanting into their eyes, and Liam feels buzzing and worked up from yelling but he feels okay, too. He feels strong, like maybe how he would have felt if he’d opened the dorm room door right back up and headed down to another room, swallowed down his fear of rejection and asked another lonely boy if he wanted to go have a kick around.

So he holds his hand out to Louis and helps him up.

 

The music in the reception is light and lilting and there are cheap peonies set on tables all around them and Louis’ face is lit up in the ridiculous coloured disco lights that the DJ has got set up. Liam feels pleasantly tipsy from the two glasses of wine he’d downed at their table. Louis’ arms are around his neck and it’s lovely until Liam suddenly feels the gaze of Louis’ relatives like a hot brand on the side of his face. He can see in the tightness of Louis’ face that he feels it too. When he glances over he sees them murmuring, two of Louis’ uncles and an old aunty sitting at a table with glasses of wine, frowning, and two older ladies standing at the food tables, eyes piercing.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Liam leans down to murmur in Louis’ ear, squeezing his waist gently. “We don’t have to-”

“Kiss me.”

Liam stops swaying. “What?”

“Kiss me,” Louis repeats, strong and determined, jaw set.

It feels ridiculous for Liam’s heart to be beating so fast – this obviously doesn’t mean anything, it’s just for the act – but he looks at Louis’ lips and really, really wants it. “You’re sure?” He checks, already leaning in.

Louis’ eyes flick down to Liam’s lips and there’s barely a breath between them when he murmurs, “Yes.”

So Liam kisses him, and it’s chaste but soft, and he tastes a faint hint of wine when he pulls away.

“Was that okay?” Liam whispers. He doesn’t look at Louis’ relatives, only pulls him closer, biting back his smile when he gets a look at his face.

He looks exhilarated, buzzing. Liam tries not to notice how blown out his pupils are, how goose bumps have raised the hairs all along his arms where he’s rolled up his shirt sleeves. Louis nods, rests his head on Liam’s chest for a moment before looking him in the eyes again. “Yes, that was,” he clears his throat. “Very good. I think we’ve successfully scarred my Aunt Mabel for life.”

“Very good, then,” Liam laughs. He knows his own cheeks are probably pink. “That’s, yeah.”

Louis laughs properly then, eyes crinkling up. “What are we doing?” He says, shaking his head. “What the bloody hell are we doing?”

And he looks so content and delighted and comfortable in that moment that it feels easy to laugh back, to spin him out into some ridiculous form of ballroom dancing and murmur, “I don’t have a clue,” into his neck. It’s easy to slip into the character of someone who loves him, even if it’s just for a little while.

 

They make it back to Louis’ house and stumble into the guest room, more than a little drunk. Liam stations himself against a wall so he can’t fall over and watches Louis attempt to kick off his dress shoes, frowning a little. As soon as he gets them off he’s wandering over to Liam, and it feels like no time at all before he’s leaning against him, looking up into his face.

“Thank you,” he slurs into the darkness. “You made it better. How the hell did you manage to make it better?”

“It’s just kind of what I do,” Liam says, and maybe it doesn’t make much sense because his brain-to-mouth filter isn’t exactly in working order, or maybe it’s because Louis is beautiful and pressed close to him but still so out of reach.

Liam feels sick with wanting him. He doesn’t get it, but it’s happening; his fingers are trembling to touch and his brain feels muddled and messy and off-balance and Louis is the cause of and the solution to all of his problems and he hates him and he wants him and he’s never done a spontaneous thing in his life but somehow it feels right to just lean in and kiss him.

Louis seems shocked for a second, because this isn’t their first kiss but it might be the first one that could actually mean something. There’s no one from Louis’ family around to see them, and Liam’s chest feels tight for a second, panicking that he’s read this all wrong and Louis is actually about to push him away, before Louis arches up and kisses him back properly.

His hands slide up to hold onto Liam’s jacket and pull him closer, opening his mouth so their tongues slide wet together, and Liam kind of really, really likes him and it makes him suddenly angry that it took them this long.

They break apart and his heart is racing.

“Sometimes I really fucking hate you,” He breathes into the space between them. He kisses Louis, hard, to punctuate it. “You’re such a dick,” He gasps, kisses him again. He’s holding so tight to Louis’ face that it must hurt, but Louis only presses closer, mouth open and lips wet pink. “I know you do it when you’re upset and it’s your whole defence mechanism thing but like- Why me? Why are you such a dick to me?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I’m sorry.” Louis stretches up onto his toes and sucks on Liam’s bottom lip, teeth dragging. “You’re just so fucking good. Why are you so lovely all the time? I’m so harsh and loud and you’re just- You’re dedicated to your work and you put other people before yourself and you follow the rules and you make everyone like you and I bet your parents were always really proud of you and, and you’re just everything I could never figure out how to be, and I-” Louis stops, panting.

Liam is silent, a little stunned. He nudges their noses together and meets Louis’ eyes, hesitant. Louis’ cheeks are flushed bright and his eyes are darting over Liam’s face and he’s clinging to the lapels of his suit jacket like he’s terrified, so Liam ducks down and kisses him on the cheek, gently. It makes Louis relax a little, let out a breathy half-laugh into Liam’s throat.

“I’m a bit insane, aren’t I?” He whispers. He takes a big breath in, chest expanding against Liam’s where they’re pressed warm together. “I really am sorry, Liam. About your time at school and about all the times I was such a dick… Really.”

Liam mirrors his shaky breath in, kissing Louis one more time to ground himself before he speaks. “I can’t just…forgive all of that, so easy,” He manages. Louis’ face falls and he starts to speak, but Liam cuts him off. “But we have plenty of time to work on it, yeah? Thank you for saying sorry. I know you’re not the type to do that, so.”

Louis’ eyes crinkle when he laughs. “Can we talk about my endless flaws later?”

“Yeah,” Liam smiles back, hitching Louis closer so he can fit his thigh between his legs, watching the way his eyelashes flutter. “Later.”

“You’re a fucking-” He starts, breathless, but Liam cuts him off with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr at hisoldman :))


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